#ScottishWriters
AWAY with funeral music– set The pipe to powerful lips— The cup of life’s for him that dri… And not for him that sips.
Give to me the life I love, Let the lave go by me, Give the jolly heaven above And the byway nigh me. Bed in the bush with stars to see,
NOW Antoninus, in a smiling age, Counts of his life the fifteenth f… The rounded days and the safe year… Nor fears death’s water mounting r… To him remembering not one day is…
How do you like to go up in a swin… Up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it the pleasantest… Ever a child can do! Up in the air and over the wall,
ABOUT the sheltered garden groun… The trees stand strangely still. The vale ne’er seemed so deep befo… Nor yet so high the hill. An awful sense of quietness,
Grown about by fragrant bushes, Sunken in a winding valley, Where the clear winds blow And the shadows come and go, And the cattle stand and low
LOOK round: You see a little sup… But from my window, lo! great Cae… And the great dead themselves, wit… Bid you be merry and remember deat…
Bright is the ring of words When the right man rings them, Fair the fall of songs When the singer sings them. Still they are carolled and said —
YOU remember, I suppose, How the August sun arose, And how his face Woke to trill and carolette All the cages that were set
I DO not fear to own me kin To the glad clods in which spring… Or to my brothers, the great trees… That speak with pleasant voices in… Loud talkers with the winds that p…
From breakfast on through all the… At home among my friends I stay, But every night I go abroad Afar into the land of Nod. All by myself I have to go,
I have a hoard of treasure in my b… The grange of memory steams agains… Full of my bygone lifetime’s garne… Old pleasures crowned with sorrow… Old sorrow grown a joy, old penanc…
Smooth it glides upon its travel, Here a wimple, there a gleam— O the clean gravel! O the smooth stream! Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
Go, little book, and wish to all Flowers in the garden, meat in the… A bin of wine, a spice of wit, A house with lawns enclosing it, A living river by the door,
My body which my dungeon is, And yet my parks and palaces: — Which is so great that there I go All the day long to and fro, And when the night begins to fall